


unbecoming of a lady

by ashxv



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashxv/pseuds/ashxv
Summary: “Early morning yesterday, it finally occurred to me; just like a puzzle where I had placed every piece.”Hershel Layton x Reader





	unbecoming of a lady

**unbecoming of a lady**

* * *

“Mr. Layton?”

You proceeded to knock on the door for the third time in a row — or ninth, depending on whether one counted a single rap as a knock, or a triad of them. But to your dismay, there was yet a response to be had from the fresh university lecturer himself. And they claimed he was quite the gentleman. Clearly, their faith in such information was misplaced. You huffed as you stood patiently before the office door with the nameplate ‘Layton’ on it, in all its shining, un-nicked glory. Minutes passed, and you would have trotted off with the stockpile of books in your arms, but you were certain that the newly ranked Professor himself was in his study. Where else would he be? The man had only just arrived at Gressenheller University with nowhere else to travel to in the break of dawn, unless he was the type to abandon his very first day at work — which would have been a simply impossible scenario for a lecturer of his caliber, or so you had heard.

Who were you exactly to request for this man’s presence, you ask? Why, you were to be his personal assistant. Talking about specifics to a hall flooded with students and professional university lecturers alike was quite the chore, not to mention a strain on the throat. It’s easy to imagine a worn out professor at the end of the day, wanting nothing but a good rest to himself. Yet, he can’t accomplish such a feat if there were errands to be run. That’s where you come in, and that’s why you were assigned to this man, to help ease his burdens, to be the one to do his running around during the after-hours. You knew not who this man was, so you naturally held no grudge against him, but his punctuality, or lack thereof, was beginning to dampen your impression of this gentleman. No longer could you wait, after all, you changed shifts of your part time job as a boutique assistant for this job. The change in routine would be well worth it if you put the offered pay as a personal assistant into consideration. But if this professor was going to be a no-show, you might as well try to make it in time for your original shift. You, after all, needed that money. That money would have gone to your younger brother’s tuition fees. Then, hopefully, when you get more than enough to sustain the both of you, you’d use it to complete what courses you had left unfinished in Gressenheller University all those years ago. You needed those certificates rather desperately — no one else would look at a woman with an unmarked resume. Times were hard and people were struggling with the economy at the time. It was a crying shame to be a working woman in that day and age, but you were plowing through, maintaining your laborious speed.

You rapped on the door for the final time. No, the opportunity was too good to not wait for, especially on the first day of the job. You’d skip today’s shift, you told yourself before you rolled over to the wall adjacent to the door. Your aching back slid down its length, and you brought your knees in, hugging the textbooks close to your chin. You swore you could almost descend into sweet dreams at this rate. An hour flew by. You’d expected someone to welcome you into the room, but your hopes were dampened by passing time. You were growing cross-eyed from forcing yourself to stay conscious as you rested your head against the coarse vertical surface. Where was Mr. Layton? On a norm day, you’d comment on how you’d be more than willing to give him a piece of your tired mind — but you were far too spent because of the tedium you had to sit through in that lone hour.

“Miss ____________! What might you be doing down there?”

“P-Professor Delmona…?” you said, unsure of yourself, the volume of your voice kicked down several notches, as you’d just awoken from your slumber. Your eyelids blinked in succession before you realized what an unkempt state you must have been in, especially before the head of Gressenheller University himself. You gasped in startling realization, perhaps almost too quickly, when you started wheezing seconds after. You used the strength stored in your hibernation to lift yourself off the ground, clutching your chest as you clumsily leaned against the wall you had initially slept against for support.

“Now, now, no need to be flustered, Miss ____________, it’s only me.”

“I’m not, sir…” you cleared your throat, “I was actually waiting for Mr. Layton. You assigned me to him, yes?”

“Ah, yes, of course, of course,” he nodded enthusiastically. There was a moment of silence that ensued before Dean Delmona realized that you were not already in Hershel Layton’s office. With an adequate amount of surprise in his voice, he proceeded to question you.

“Oh my, have you not met him yet?”

The question struck you as a test of sorts. You were cautious with your words, especially when the weight of them could have led to several consequences and outcomes for the future. You haven’t met Hershel Layton yet, that much was true, but if Dean Delmona, head himself, found out that a gentleman like Mr. Layton had not greeted his personal assistant for over an hour, well; certain standards expected of Mr. Layton himself might be lowered if the tale began to spread. And you definitely didn’t want to bring such unfortunate luck upon someone that you will especially be working under. Mr. Layton was most likely the man who was going to be writing up reports consisting of the make or break remarks about your performance as a personal assistant, and the one that would have the most influence over your pay grade. That bit was important, and none else. You bit your lip anxiously. Your face was a jumble of emotions, and you knew it. Quick-wittedly, you bent down to pick up the textbooks you had left sitting on the floor, allowing you a small span of time to stabilize your composure and straighten out your unorganized thoughts.

“N-No, Professor, of course I have! I’d just left the office to, ah, run some errands for Mr. Layton… I’ve just gotten back and was just getting these textbooks organized for him before I present them. They’re rather heavy for a woman of my stature, so I had to lay them down on the ground for a moment…”

“Are you certain you don’t need help, Miss ____________? Not that I could do much, but I’m sure Mr. Layton himself could assist you if I asked him to —”

“No!” your voice rose a bit higher than expected, “Er, that’s not necessary. I mean, what good of a personal assistant would I be if I wasn’t up to the task? I’ll manage on my own, Professor Delmona, but thank you for your concern.”

You ended your last sentence with an authentic, warm smile. He chuckled at your eagerness to work. “Well, then. Keep up the good work!”

His jovial laughter echoed down the university hallways as he eventually disappeared from sight. You let out a sigh of relief as soon as your elder was out of hearing range. You stuck your hand in your pants pocket, pulling out a fine birch-colored handkerchief before wiping your brow with it. It was time to finally get knocking on the door again. You were skeptical, of course. It was highly doubtful that anyone would have answered. That’s why you had decided that you were going to knock for a few times before attempting to sneak your way into the office. And if anyone was suspicious — that ‘anyone’ mostly being Mr. Layton himself — you could have just said that you had spare keys in case of emergency. You found yourself to be quite the impeccable liar for a woman. An unjust trait in the eyes of many, perhaps, but it definitely did have its perks.

You left the books on the floor this time. No use holding them when you just knew no one was going to usher you in. You knocked once, twice, thrice. Right, no answer. You glanced suspiciously around the small hallway you stood in, one of the walls was lined with two doors, and the opposite wall was simply adorned with certificates and pictures alike. Many still objects to be seen, but no living soul in sight, safe for yourself. You rested your hand on the doorknob and used just enough strength to turn it as quietly as a mother would in the midst of night to check on the sleeping child of hers. It hadn’t surprised you that the door was, indeed, locked from inside. But you had anticipated this. Your pocket was full of wondrous tools and gizmos — you rummaged around and eventually picked a pin from the jungle of items you had kept in your pocket. Kneeling down to the doorknob’s height, you shut one eye and kept the other open to attain a better view of the keyhole that had itself positioned square on the shiny surface of the knob, and in a few clicks, the door jerked open.

A tuft of your hair could be seen through the little nook that gave you a view into his office. The brightness was overwhelming, for when you had done so, all that could be seen was a flash of white. Your vision eventually adjusted, and the first thing that had come across your mind upon first glance was that it was unsightly.

Your back had slumped naturally as you were sneaking in, an act of inconspicuous nature. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted as they glazed across the room, over each settee and couch, each stool and bookshelf. But Mr. Layton was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was beyond the very narrow, vertical frame of vision that you could only see from outside the room, behind the barely opened door. For that, you were obliged to swing the door open, regardless of the noise it would make. If he _was_ in the room and hadn’t spoken up, it was rather clear that he was absent, even in company of a guest. You stood tall, posture straightened and expression stiffened, and strolled into the office regardless of its ownership. The last thing you would’ve have expected to walk in on was the man himself in the midst of his afternoon slumber.

The man must have been one heck of a heavy sleeper — the door, after all, was not as thick and impermeable to sound as it seemed, and in addition to that, you yourself had the courtesy to knock on its surface more than once, without a doubt. But it seemed like he was out cold. Not from illness, it didn’t look like. His eyes were left unswollen, as was his nose, and his box of tissue papers seem untouched. His sleeping stance did not make him seem as if his mind was left in shambles as an aftereffect of a plague of any sorts. If anything, he seemed to be in the process of hibernation, with his legs tucked in; knees bent, and arms close to his own self. As if he were just tucked in for the night — or in this case, for the rest of the day. No matter the levels of your rage and dissatisfaction, you could not muster enough courage to wake him up. The poor lad seemed exhausted; fatigued beyond imagination, and that was most likely the reason why he hadn’t been able to wake his own soul for the life of him to act as the convivial reception he was supposed to be. His breaths were unusually long and bottomless, the sound of which a working man made when he had been toiling at the peak hours of the night. It was something you could perceive and understand, after all, that was one thing you both had shared in common. Without second thought, you felt like he had deserved a lengthy, undisturbed repose, despite his tardiness. It might have been bigoted of you to only succumb seeing that you could relate to the situation, but it mattered much less, as there was no one around to judge you. At least, no one with both eyes wide open.

You finally stood further away from under the door frame, slowly and silently sealing the door shut by leaning against it with your back, gently pushing into place before the latch fastened itself in place with a rather resonant click. You winced, both eyes shut as you prayed that it hadn’t woken up the lecturer. Thankfully, it hadn’t. You proceeded to set your messenger back on the couch that sat in company with the occupied settee and rosewood coffee table. A cold cup of dark ecstasy sat on the surface of the table in wait, neglected by the one who had brewed it. Clippings and articles of sorts were either pinned onto a board not far from his cluttered scribe, or they were dangling by their almost torn off corners. That, or they were also roaming about everywhere in the room, carried left and right by the blustery winds emanating from the ceiling fan.

The whole room was a pig sty, and you knew you had your work cut out for you.

* * *

  
  
“Professor Layton?”  
  
A small grunt sounded from the couch. The man who had been called slowly sat upright, only just realizing that many hours had flown by to his surprise. Putting on his top hat, he stood up and walked briskly over to the door before pulling it open.  
  
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Grimes. Did I keep you waiting?”  
  
“Worry not, Professor, I haven’t. And it’s just Rosa to you!”  
  
He chuckled, “Looks like it’s something I’m going to have to get used to, just like my title as Professor.”  
  
“You should be honored, Professor! Not many people get to be university lecturers at this day and age — at Gressenheller, even!”  
  
Hershel welcomed the cleaning lady in, door wide open as he stepped aside to make way for her to move in.  
  
“Er, I’m sorry about the mess, I’d actually decided to arrive at the campus late last night, and I had to make sure my thesis was —”  
  
“Mess? If this is what you call a mess, then I’d say you’re the cleanest lecturer that has ever worked here!”  
  
Her voice was of genuine surprise; surprise of a good kind, which, in turn, made Hershel just as stunned himself, as he finally took a good, actual look at his surroundings for the first time since his curt awakening. His shock quickly subsided into suspicion, as his small eyes narrowed, eying each part of his office warily.  
  
“I have to say, I’m quite surprised myself.”  
  
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home here, Professor, starting with this.”  
  
She lifted up her tray with much glee before waddling over to the coffee table. On it, were porcelain teacups as well as a teapot large enough to pour for almost seven guests. It was a matching set, both of white tint with hints of blue intricate art carved onto its smooth surface.  
  
“Thank you, Rosa,” he smiled.  
  
It wasn’t long until Rosa Grimes, the cleaning lady, took her leave from Hershel’s office. Naturally, Hershel himself insisted that Rosa stayed and kept him company with some tea to go along with their conversation, and so she did for a couple of minutes. Of course, she couldn’t be kept from her duties, so she had left after a short while. It was mostly idle chatter, but no doubt that would change over the course of time that Hershel lectured at Gressenheller University. The scent of chamomile still wafted around the room. Aside from the fresh, new scent and the magically arranged belongings, nothing else felt really out of place, nothing struck him as unusual — until he closed the door shut behind Mrs. Grimes. As the latched click in place, something in his mind had ignited as well, a memory. The turn of a wrist on the doorknob felt normal when he closed the door from the inside, but he soon realized that he had to do the same without having to unlock it first when Mrs. Grimes first arrived at his office. He definitely remembered locking the door, so why was it suddenly left undone when he woke up?  
  
The answer was, of course, very obvious. The neatness of his office could not be pinned on the efforts of Hershel himself, that, he knew — after all, he would have been far too exhausted to clean up after himself after last night’s mind bending ordeal. And it could not have been a spectre of sorts. The only other thing that could have done all this was definitely another human being that had snuck into his room while he was asleep. Even then, it baffled him as to how he hadn’t woken up at the sound of the door unlocking. Sighing, Hershel lifted his top hat, running his palm through his hair before resting the hat back on his head of hair.  


* * *

  
  
Pick the lock on the door. Enter quietly. Scan the room. Close the door. Clean, and get back out. It was so very routine, and you’d been following through those series of actions for almost a week. You had intentions of finding Mr. Layton himself and allowing the both of you to acknowledge each other as proper people, instead of him having to think of you as a cleaning phantom and you having to think of him as a man of utter enervation. But the man had always seemed to elude you. You had entered his office on every shift, every possible time, but ever since you first snuck in, he never seemed to be in his own office. You’d figured he might have been avoiding you, but that was impossible per se, for he hadn’t even known you’d existed.  
  
You wondered how this man worked. After coming back day after day, it’s felt as if the man had deliberately made a mess on purpose. There was no way a man in his right man would manage to attain a room this unkempt on a daily basis. But of course, you weren’t one to judge, perhaps there were, indeed, people of such caliber out there. For now, you would clean and arrange, regardless of how much of a mess is made after twenty four hours.  
  
You tiptoed. The shelf beside his scribe was ridiculously high, and you honestly hadn’t remembered that piece of furniture being way up on the wall. It’s like someone had shifted it…  
  
But you didn’t think much of it. You were probably just tired from working two jobs. You bit your lower lip in attempt to push the small, potted Bonsai tree further onto the shelf, fingers stretching as far and as hard as they can to budge the pot full of roots and fertilized soil.  
  
“Here, let me help.”  
  
Your eyes grew to the size of tennis balls, obviously startled by the sudden voice that didn’t belong to you. You immediately spun around and stepped away from the figure behind yours.  
  
“Oh my go-”  
  
You felt your leg hook onto the chair that was coupled with the scribe, and even though it didn’t seem it, it felt like an absolutely tangled mess you couldn’t get out of in time to break your fall. And as agile as Mr. Layton himself might have been, it just wasn’t enough to keep you from your fall from grace. You fell on your behind, and hit your head against the side of the scribe. The whole episode was one of embarrassment. Your back was now against the drawers nearby, and you had your hand on the back of your head, eyes shut in slight pain as you felt the spot on which you had hit throbbing.  
  
“Ow…” you groaned, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but anxiously chuckle at your clumsiness.  
  
“My, are you alright?” Mr. Layton himself knelt down to your height, taking your hand without hesitation. He had his other hand on your head, making sure you knew to crouch while getting out from under the table, or you’d otherwise hit your head on the same spot again. He quickly led you to the settee you remember him sleeping on. This time, he had his hands on the side of your arms, peering at your lowered face. He urged you to rest for a while, before he went ahead to boil some water and make some tea in the corner of the room. For that duration, you sat patiently, somewhat mortified and humiliated that the first class lecturer had to see his personal assistant as a klutz first, a sneaky lock picker second, and a hard-working, effective co-worker last.  
  
It wasn’t long until Mr. Layton was done with his tea, and he had even placed it on a tray and poured it out for the two of you. Your fingers were still clutched onto your head, as if you were hanging on for dear life. In truth, you were really just embarrassed and didn’t really know where else to leave your devious hands. But then you felt something trickling down your forehead.  
  
“Oh no…” you muttered unhappily. Mr. Layton took note of your dissatisfaction and looked up and away from the tea tray. Hurriedly, he reached for his box of tissues, yanked several out and was ready to use them.  
  
“Where does it hurt?”  
  
You blinked, your hand becoming even more tainted with red as you felt around within your hair.  
  
“About here, I think… don’t worry, I can do i-”  
  
You hadn’t finished your sentence, and you couldn’t once he himself had applied pressure to the wound faster than you could blink. The man probably hadn’t realize how close he was to you in distance, and how his other hand was holding the side of your face so he could get a better look at your graze.  
  
“Um, t-thank you…” you immediately moved back a little and substituted his helpful hand with yours.  
  
“Would you like some ointment to go with a bandage?”  
  
“Oh…?” you watched him as he got up and went over to his shelf of various items, “N-No, that’s okay, I’m sure the wound would close in a matter of moments, and besides, I think I’ve done enough here today... and enough snooping around, in general…”  
  
You were not normally this apologetic and timid. Usually, you would have been steadfast with your beliefs, but this time around, you believed that you were mostly to blame, even though part of the reason for you intruding his private office was because he had never answered the door when he should have. Even so, you could not afford to lose another job, especially when it was relatively easy for you as you fancied organizing things as well as schedules — and it paid well. Now, seeing that Mr. Layton was not as bad a person as you thought he would be, judging from the messes he’s made, you thought that this was a job worth keeping.  
  
Mr. Layton folded his arms at you, unsure as to what to think of you in that instance. You had to get on his good side, of course, and so you tried your best to do so.  
  
“I have to admit, it was very unbecoming of a lady to not knock first…”  
  
It pained you to say so, but you knew you had to. He had the most mischievous smile on his face and you were definitely aware of that.  
  
“We’re going to be working together, so you don’t have to tell any fibs anymore.”  
  
You blinked at him, “So you realized…”  
  
“I heard from the Dean that my personal assistant was a worker bee. Of course, that left me confused for a bit, since I had not an inkling as to what he was referring to, but I played along with conversation anyway to see where it would have gone. That’s when I realized I’d left you outside my office for quite an amount of time. I think I’m the one that has to do the apologizing; it’s only becoming of a gentleman. You wouldn’t have had to sneak your way in if I’d been more alert.”  
  
And in that moment, you realized that everything you thought about him had been renewed and refreshed by that one apology. You liked him. What you didn’t know was that you were going to like him more than your emotions were capable of in the future.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Layton. We should put all this behind us, yes?” you grinned from ear to ear, suddenly very welcoming of his company.  
  
“If you wish it, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” he chuckled and shrugged, “Oh, and since we’re going to be working alongside each other, I think the formalities can go to rest. Hershel will do. And you are?”  
  
“__________.”  
  
“Alright, ___________. We are the same age, aren’t we?”  
  
“Hm, now that I think about it, I’d reckon so. I’m sorry I’ve called you ‘mister’ — that must have seemed odd at most,” you tittered before sipping on your tea.  
  
He hadn’t replied for a while, and you were left sitting on the couch awaiting an obligation of sorts or a response, but he seemed to have been preoccupied with the medical kit for a prolonged duration, oddly enough. You decided to speak up. After all, it was in the midst of day and you probably needed to get started, this time, properly, as a personal assistant.  
  
“Do you need help, Hershel?”  
  
He kept silent for a little while longer before answering your question.  
  
“Hm, yes, I seem to be in quite a predicament at the moment. Would you like to give this a go?”  
  
“I’m… sorry?”  
  
In his hands, he carried a compact, white box made of plastic filled with medical utensils of all sorts: bandages, band aids, wraps, ointments, painkillers and antibiotics, antiseptics and the like. He brought it over to the couch and sat beside you. On first glance, you could tell what the contents were in general, but when it came to specifying a certain object, it was almost impossible, for there were too many boxes of medication, and it was worse as not all of them were in their rightful places. Stuck with tape onto the inside of the lid was a note describing each medication, their appearance, and their method of application. Carefully, you peeled the tape off the lid and examined the note under closer inspection. You hummed, eyes glazing over the various descriptions carefully, while Hershel himself, had too, shimmied right next to you and leaned in to read the note with you.  
  
“These descriptions are very vague, but I think I can piece them together,” you concluded, pursing your lips as you turned to him, this time, not aware of the dangerous imminence between your faces. You wouldn’t normally take note of such a thing when you were engrossed in a challenging puzzle, and the same could have been said for Hershel Layton himself. “Would you like to join me?”  
  
“Oh, no, by all means, go at it.”  
  
You took little of his eagerness to let you solve this puzzle for yourself. Your hands worked quick as a sewing machine, almost solving the puzzle in less than two minutes. If anything, it would have been a record time. You cocked your head to a side, then to the other, viewing your completed masterpiece from all angles before you were finally happy with the result. You nodded to yourself, then to him. It had taken you awhile to realize that he was watching you with full amusement, and if you weren’t mistaken, he was also thoroughly impressed.  
  
“I think I’ve got it…”  
  
“Indeed, you have.”  
  
“And you watched knowingly, hm?” your shoulders slumped; a sheepish grin grew wide on your lips.  
  
“Well, my personal assistant needed to be capable of solving puzzles, of course. I just wanted to see how well you would fare on a rather difficult puzzle, I might say. It seems a waste to have you as a personal assistant, if you ask me.”  
  
You silenced yourself. Your heart sunk at the remark, but you took it in gratefully.  
  
“O-Of course, I’m no match for the difficult ones… that’s why I’m a persona-”  
  
He cleared his throat, rather alarmed by your reaction,  
  
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. You completed that puzzle almost quickly and flawlessly. If anything, you’d do well as an assistant during lectures, instead of running silly personal errands for me. What do you think?”  
  
It seemed almost too good to be true — it usually always is, but what was the harm in making sure it wasn’t?  
  
“… Is this an offer?”  
  
“I don’t see how it isn’t,” he smiled.  
  
“Well, I don’t have the qualifications, and —”  
  
“That will be fine, with a little coaching, you could go a long way, and under my supervision, I technically have the right to present you a certificate if I see it to be fit.”  
  
“But you wouldn’t have time for your personal duti-”  
  
“Then I guess we’ll have to see more of each other, so we can do it together.”  
  
Your face flushed red. You found yourself fiddling with your shirt, and your eyes darting across the room except on the professor himself. It didn’t take long for him to realize the implications of his words, and he soon, too, found himself rather bright red in the cheeks.  
  
“Er, of course, if you don’t mind us working together on personal errands either…”  
  
“No! Of course not!” you reassured him.  
  
It didn’t take long for the comedy of errors to subside, as it ended with the both of you making inside jokes about it as well as poking fun at each other for it. The both of you talked a bit about your lives while he was tending to your wound, finally knowing which to use and apply, thanks to your puzzle expertise. Many laughs were had, and you found yourself enjoying the professor’s company immensely. Playing this game of cat and mouse seemed like a bad idea at first, but now that it was all over and done with, you couldn’t see the two of you getting together any other way — it just wouldn’t have been right. You were glad you were going to see more of him. Perhaps the two jobs you had just hooked for yourself would be more than enough, and you could finally leave your job as a boutique assistant. You would not only save more time and money working in one place, but you’d also gain a new friend, and somewhere deep inside, you’d hope, perhaps, maybe you’d gain something even more than that.  
  
Time flew by, irrespective of the wishes you had for it to never end. Your enjoyable day was cut short by a lecture he had scheduled in about half an hour’s time, and he had to set up to prepare for it. He stood on the inside of his office whilst you were already on the outside, just bidding your goodbyes.  
  
“It’s been a pleasure talking to you, _____________.”  
  
“As it has been for me, Hershel.”  
  
“Oh, here, I almost forgot…”  
  
He pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket.  
  
“You know very well I don’t need that,” you laughed, but opened your palm anyway for him to drop the keys in them.  
  
“Well, it’s the least I could do to lift your burdens. You’ve cleaned my office for the past few days, and I’ve made it such a hassle for you to clean up — after all, I was curious about your identity, so you left me no choice. I had to make you stay long enough for me to get back in time, but it was never really long enough. Either way, at least you don’t have to pick your way in now. And of course, you won’t have to clean up after me; I’ll have you know I’m definitely capable of doing that myself.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Hershel,” you nodded at him with a carefree smile. You took a step closer to him and stood on your toes, pecking him on his right cheek before you sunk back down to your original height. Your smile turned coy before looking away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you, for everything.”  
  
“O-Of course…” he muttered as you walked away with your bag strap in your hand, “Tomorrow…”  
  
His face glowed red before he returned to his office. Every day with the professor was a new adventure… and you hoped it would stay that way for the longest time.


End file.
